A Word or Two Before You Go
by Autumnevening
Summary: End of S5. Angel gets his sanshu in the middle of the fight and is horribly disfigured. How will he deal with this new life where he is no longer anything that he was? Will he be able to reinvent himself and still deal with old responsibilities? R
1. Chapter 1

Title: A word or two before you go.

Rating: pg-13

Disclaimer: I own nothing, in fact, I owe money, suing me is pointless.

Summary: In the middle of the fight at the end of Angel Season 5, Angel gets sanshued. But, with a retaliation from Wolfram&Hart looming on the horizon, and his life thrown into turmoil, how can he deal with his new humanity, and the responsibilities he still carries from his old life?

Pairings: Spike/Illyria, Angel/Someone-I-haven't-decided-who-yet, Conner/oc,

A/N:Just, honestly, this is probably the most insane thing I've ever written.

Read and review. Readers rock, but reviewers rule.

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The inconvenience of humanity hit Angel about five seconds after it had been granted him. Right about the time the dragon he'd been fighting scorched his entire right side and the pain pulled him down into the dark.

The ptb weren't exactly a gracious lot and though it would have been much more beneficial to grant him his sanshu after the battle, they felt no need to wait. So, without Angel, the brooding avenger, Illyria, Gunn, Spike, Conner, an odd mix of not-so-lucky half-demons, and two very recently called slayers fought back the demon horde and reclaimed Los Angelus, if not for the light, than at least for the vaguely grey area.

In a moment Angel's entire world changed. His identity changed, his victory was lost to him, his cause was transformed. Perhaps that's why it took him so long to wake. Angel, not only no longer Angelus, but no longer angelic.

When he did wake, to an empty hospital room filled only with the soft light from beneath the door and the beeping of a monitor, his confusion was beyond anything he'd felt since returning from hell. Why was he in a hospital? Why…why did he hurt? Where were his friends? He moaned as he tried to sit up with trembling arms and found that he could not.

It was then that Spike, who had been sitting out in the waiting room, burst in. Though they had never gotten along in unlife Spike felt an odd kind of sad protectiveness for his once-sire now that he'd become human. Perhaps Spike's gift for empathy allowed him to predict the sense of loss and mourning that Angel would surely experience upon waking. Perhaps they were much closer than either of them had ever surmised.

The light blazing in from the overly-lit hallway caused Angel to wince, and then flinch violently when he realized who was standing before him. Angel, once the berk Liam, then the sociopath Angelus, was now an entirely different entity. Reendowed with his humanity and no longer shielded with the righteous indignation of the demon the full weight of his guilt, and what he had done to his too-human vampire childe, hit him with devastating force. After the things he had done he could not fathom why William would not take his vengeance here and now.

Instead Spike stopped short when he saw Angel's reaction, a look of shock and, was that hurt, crossing his face.

"Angelus, you alright?"

Angel could only stare, any words and he would break down in tears. He could see now what he had never been able to see before and it thoroughly broke his heart. There stood a boy; a brave, genuine, noble, beautiful boy, trying desperately to be a man. A man who, without futile attempts at an impossible standard, he would have become long ago. Angel could see, in those fathomless blue eyes, every ounce of pain that Angelus had ever inflicted, and ever ounce of purity that Angel would never touch. The fact that Spike seemed concerned for him only made it hurt worse. Unable to maintain eye contact Angel closed his eyes and turned his head away, tears leaking down his face to drip on the pillow below him.

"Doctor!" Spike bellowed, and the noise surely echoed through the entire facility. "Get your arse in here. Our boy's hurtin'."

Angel would have smiled at that, if it hadn't hurt so much.

Gunn was the next one in the room and Angel immediately felt relief wash over him. A familiar face, a friend. Then Gunn rested his hand atop one of Angel's and smiled softly, specks of gold flitting through his eyes for a moment, and Angel felt his stomach drop out. Oh, yeah. That's what he did before this happened. Too tired of loosing people he cared about he chose to turn the dieing man. Turn him and destroy his chances of heaven. New tears formed in his eyes, and welled in his throat. He choked back a sob. Oblivious to the concern that painted itself on the faces of his children.

Gunn caught on first, and rested his other hand gently on Angel's shoulder. "Eh there. None of that boss. No harm done. I ain't no nasty. Got me a soul." Another uncontrollable sob and Angel looked up in shock.

"A _soul_?"

Gunn nodded. "Yeah, courtesy of some witch coven in England. They said something about there needing to be two champions or some other shit. Anyway, by the time I woke I was all souled up. So, I'm good. Speaking of; how are you?"

Angel stared up at Gunn for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around what was just said. Just then a noise caught his attention and he turned his head to see a heart monitor beeping steadily away. He followed the cord from where it came out of the machine to where it lay in a heap on the floor to where it stuck in a little round bandage to his chest. The beeping skipped a little and sped up.

When he spoke his voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't think now is the best time to answer that question."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: this story is not mine. I own nothing. In fact I owe money. It would be pointless to sue me.**

**Ha! look at that! An update. :D I still don't seem to have a consistent beta so I apologize for all mistakes, they're my fault. I hope you all enjoy, and don't worry, Angel will be back to the center of attention soon.**

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Spike walked out the moment Angel started crying, again. He knew he should be in there, or he felt he should, but he couldn't do it. He saw clearly, perhaps more clearly than anyone, that Angel's humanity was more a curse than anything. That's why he never wanted his back. Some things you aren't meant to return from. His doubt of the Powers goodness grew with each step down the hall, away from the room with the sobbing ex-vampire and away from a reality he wasn't sure he could deal with. He could only imagine what pain his once-sire must be going through, and imagining was more than enough.

He managed to find a dark empty room before his own tears began to fall, the stress and pressure and pain of the last few weeks coupled with a disbelieving sympathy for Captain Forehead and a primal mourning for his lost sire. He pressed his palms and his head to the cold wall beside the door, a welcome sensation to skin that felt suddenly how. He watched in silence as the wetness from his eyes fell with soft splats to the pale linoleum floor. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, that non-vital but deeply necessary action, letting the sensation wash over him.

He didn't' know how much time passed but eventually he felt a pair of warm arms, thin but strong, wrap around his waist. It was then, when offered that silent comfort, that he broke down in earnest, and his legs gave out on him shortly thereafter.

In some ways Angel was lucky and the powers _had_ been kind, because he'd been saved from seeing the full carnage that Wolfram & Hart's army left in its wake. Spike had seen it all. The city had been full when Hells army had descended on them, the population was well halved now. Spike had lost count of the people he'd come across who'd been cut in half or mauled, only kept alive by shock or some dark magic. And Spike, with his shiny little soul hadn't been able to let them suffer longer, wouldn't let them be carrion for roaming demons. He would never forget those images, they would never be cleaned form his mind, not even if he lived to be a thousand.

"You will be alright," his blue companion declared in a voice that was at once hard and gentle. Spike gave a choking laugh.

"Just because you've decreed it doesn't mean it'll happen, dove."

Illyria released him and moved to face him, that simple gesture alone proving how much she too had changed and how much she valued him. When he turned his face from her, jaw ticking in a futile attempt to hide his emotion she laid her hand against his face and turned it so he had no choice but to look at her. Her hand dropped to his shoulder when she saw the pain in his eyes.

"You _will_ be alright," she repeated. "Not today, but it will happen. I am familiar with the mourning of lesser beings," and there she paused to let the predicted ironic look pass across Spike's handsome features, "and you will heal. You will adapt. The pain will not always be this sharp." Spike looked at her doubtfully and she shrugged, her rick blue eyes boring into his. "And, if all else fails, there is me and _I_ will not allow my consort to suffer more than is necessary."

Spike chuckled, calming even though tears still coursed down his cheeks. Whether she was a god or not Illyria was still entirely sure of her ability to bend the world to her whims. He didn't have the heart to disagree with her.

Spike wiped at his face. "Sorry 'bout the water works, Blue. Guess I jus'…"

Illyria placed a blue palm over Spike's mouth. "you have not wept since well before the battle. In my time as god-king I learned that even the greatest warriors need to mourn. You have lost your sire as well and the gravity of that is not unknown to me. Do not doubt, you have earned this." As she removed her hand and more tears fell Spike gave her a grateful and adoring look. He could hardly remember the last time he had been allowed his emotions. Illyria frowned. Though she desired worship she knew this shouldn't inspire it, and behind the gratitude and adoration she saw his haunted soul. In the last weeks she had chosen him as her consort and she was displeased that he suffered so.

Her features softened into a look few ever saw. She found herself growing attached to this fiery, aching, unexpected half-breed. And, when her voice came out it had the slightest Texan twang to it.

"If you need, I will lessen the pain for a time."

Tears blurred Spikes vision and a knot lodged in his throat. He nodded.

"Yes, please," he croaked.

Without a word Illyria placed her hands on either side of his head and leaned in to kiss him softly. Spike closed his eyes and sighed at the touch of her full lips against his. Meanwhile she pushed her fingers ever so slowly into Spike's head, stopping about two inches in, and staying for a minute, before removing them. Spike didn't seem to notice. Glory had always been a brute.

They continued to kiss, a slow kiss and innocent, though not quite chaste, until Spike began to sag forward. Illyria let him rest his head against her shoulder for the few minutes it took for his breathing to slow and stop before she picked up his dead weight and set him on one of the hospital beds. She had locked the door when she entered the room so she did not concern herself with anyone entering and disturbing her vampire's sleep.

She looked down at him, peaceful and at rest for the first time she had gained this shell. She touched his face as thought it were thin glass and would shatter if she pushed too hard, running her fingers over his face in a barely-there touch. She had seen what he was going through, had heard the cries that tore him from his sleep. She climbed onto the bed and stretched out beside him, pressing herself against his side. Their bond was one forged in battle and Illyria was actually surprised, though she'd never admit it, by how close they had become in such a short period of time. As a rule she was not prone to attachment, or kindness, but he seemed to be becoming the exception. Illyria was not sure if she was pleased or disturbed by this fact.

She allowed herself to relax, her body molding into the mattress, and Spike's sleeping form. She knew it was a foolish thing to do but she persuaded herself with the knowledge that she wouldn't be there when he woke.

Down the hall the doctor had come and was checking Angel's vitals while the nurse adjusted what had to be the painkiller in his IV drip. Angel stared in disbelieving fascination at the oscillating line on the screen beside his bed.

"You're lucky to be a live Mr. Angelus," the doctor, a middle aged latina with her first few gray hairs, said. She missed Angel's flinch at the old name. Gunn, who stood in a corner, did not. "A lot weren't nearly as lucky as you."

Now Angel turned to the doctor and his mouth fell open. "W-what?"

"Los Angeles," the doctor said, giving the city is Spanish pronunciation, "don't you know?"

Angel shook his head and the doctor looked to Gunn, who was purposefully staring down the wall, before answering the question written on Angel's face.

"The city is in ruins," she said, "and half the population is dead…or missing."

Angel gasped. He'd surely done more damage in his quest for redemption than Angelus ever could. There was no redemption this time. A thousand lifetimes of good couldn't pay for the pain he'd rained down upon his city.

Despairing, and suddenly feeling the fierce need to get away from everyone, he sat up.

"What are you-"

Ignoring the doctor Angel pulled the IV from his arm and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"No, you can't! You need that!" the nurse cried. They tried to stop him but even human and hurt Angel was too strong for one doctor and a petite nurse. Gunn stared on impassively, gold flecking his eyes.

Angel was nearly half way down the mostly empty white hall when a tingling pain began in his face and side and bandaged arm. Ten feet from the elevator the pain had turned into a white-hot searing and he stumbled to his knees. As he dropped further, trying not to scream with the pain, his bandaged arm pressed against the pale floor. Then there was white and after that darkness and for a while there was nothing.


End file.
